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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27211018">Wisdom and Foolishness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soncasong/pseuds/Soncasong'>Soncasong</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domesticity, Emotional Constipation, Hurt No Comfort, Jet (Avatar) Lives, M/M, Pining, Tea, jet almost cuts himself on his edge, jet is an idiot, jet learns how to read, jet needs help processing emotions, self-sabotage, some OCs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:01:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27211018</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soncasong/pseuds/Soncasong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Against all odds, Jet lives. Ba Sing Se falls, the Avatar disappears, and Jet struggles against a world determined to leave him as powerless as possible, haunted by the ghosts of his past and a boy with golden eyes and a crimson scar.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jet/Zuko (Avatar), one sided Jet/Song</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wisdom and Foolishness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He woke up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pain coursed through his body, rolling through his nerves in waves. He burned from head to toe, his blood wailing with the exertion of sustaining his life. He opened his mouth. He was sure he made a sound, but there was a buzzing in his ears and everything was too loud and too bright.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet! Jet! He’s awake, he’s awake!” a voice cried out, cutting through the haze. It was familiar, comforting, someone he knew and trusted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-is he going to be okay?” He tried putting a face to the voice, but his battered brain was too focused on the rush of signals from his overwhelmed nerves. A sudden wave of nausea rolled over his stomach, followed by the sensation of a thousand spears splitting open his abdomen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have to get him painkillers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something was slipped into his mouth and the world faded back to black. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>A woman he did not recognize sat across from him, nursing an infant in her arms. He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the ramshackle room, darkened by windows barred over with rotting wood boards. A fire flickered in the center, something simmering slowly over the heat. He instinctively flinched away from the flame, letting out a choked gasp as a jolt of pain climbed up his side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Be careful,” the woman said, “Don’t overexert yourself. Your friends barely got you to a healer in time. You’re recovering.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right, the underground cavern. Long Feng, the Dai Li, Aang desperately calling out to him. His life flashing before his eyes, his burning village, the screams of his family. The Freedom Fighters, losing home for the second time. The ferry. Li. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His grip on the threadbare blanket covering his body tightened. His eyes narrowed, his breathing quickened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” the woman asked gently. He tried to answer, but his voice was hoarse from disuse. He idly wondered what day it was. How long had he been asleep?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could ask, a series of rhythmic knocks rang out softly from the door. The woman stood, looked through a makeshift peephole punched into the wood, and slowly undid the multitude of locks on the door before letting the person in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He woke u–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet!” Smellerbee cried, beelining for his bed. She stopped short of the bed, arms still outstretched, her face unsure but hopeful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Smellerbee,” he said, pushing his voice to work. She gently wrapped her arms around him. Longshot stepped inside the house, placing a warm hand on his shoulder and smiling as Smellerbee cried into his shirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he croaked out. The three of them stayed like that for a long time. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nausea threatened to take over as he ruminated on the information Smellerbee and Longshot recounted to him. Ba Sing Se had fallen. The Avatar was dead. His vision, already blurry, was filled with dark spots. His mind blanked, his grip tightened on the sides of his bed. He’ll kill them all. He had to kill them all, he had to-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet, Jet! Breathe!” Smellerbee called. He saw red, he wanted to hurl. Smellerbee had her hands on his forearms, trying to calm him down. Longshot braced his shoulders, trying to make sure he did not reinjure himself. He could vaguely register pain shooting up his belly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, his vision cleared. The woman left the room, returning moments later with a cup of water. He accepted the cup gratefully, trying to ignore how much it resembled a teacup in his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m Ying,” the woman said, “My husband, Than, is out working. This is our daughter, Hope.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scoffed at the baby’s name. Smellerbee shot him a dirty look, grip tightening just a little on his arm, “They took us in, Jet, I don’t know what would’ve happened if… Just. Be grateful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He relented, nodding to the woman, before his gaze fell to the boarded up windows. He had a good idea why the couple felt the need to blockade their home. It made him sick, knowing what was wandering beyond those walls. Murderers and arsonists, and he was living right next to them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have to leave.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha- Jet, we can’t. Take a look at yourself!” Smellerbee cried out. Longshot gave his left shoulder a hard squeeze. An admonition. He huffed and tried to yank himself away, but a sudden sting in his abdomen forced him back into Longshot’s arms. He hissed, cursing at himself, at the Fire Nation, at that fucker Long Feng, at anyone he could think of. The water sloshed out of the cup and spilled onto the sheets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smellerbee sighed, eyes meeting Ying’s in a silent apology, before she stood to clean up the mess. The woman merely nodded in understanding before stepping out, leaving him alone with Smellerbee and Longshot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re staying,” Smellerbee said firmly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can’t!” he screamed, “I can’t fucking stay here when the fucking Fire-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re staying,” she repeated, her foot slamming into the ground, “We’re not going anywhere until you can walk. End of discussion.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rational part of his brain knew she was right. His injuries were severe, he could barely sit up straight. The progress his body had made towards recovery was delicate. To try and leave now would be suicide. But another part of him, the primal, ugly, angry part, screamed and clawed at his mind, lusting for the blood of each and every one of the Fire Nation scum treading the streets of Ba Sing Se. He could feel himself shaking. Maybe if he pushed hard enough, he could go out there and take down a few dozen soldiers. That would be better, dying in a blaze of glory, soaked in the blood of murderers. Better than sitting here, doing nothing, absolutely fucking nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet, you’re scaring me,” Smellerbee said softly. He looked up, eyes refocusing, realizing that his mouth was pulled back in a feral snarl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are my swords?” he asked, “I’m gonna go and cut them all down-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet, you’re going to die!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then let me!”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smellerbee’s face crumpled. Something dark passed over her expression, her hands falling away from his side. She stood up, tugging at Longshot’s sleeve, and the two of them left the room.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could smell the sweet, herbal aroma of a pot of freshly brewed jasmine tea. The bench was a little uncomfortable, but Jet did not really mind. He looked around. The teashop seemed busy. Dark thoughts tugged at the back of his mind, but the place was familiar. Comforting. Even when tainted by the memories of a searing red scar and a quiet scowl on a golden-eyed face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fire Nation colors adorned the storefront, the streets. Crimson and gold against black. It made Jet sick. They had been raiding warehouses and caravans whenever they could, him and Longshot and Smellerbee. The crumbling remnants of the former Freedom Fighters. But it wasn’t enough, it was never enough, no matter how many crates of tea and silk and silver he pilfered or how many red clad throats he slit, it was still not enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smellerbee and Longshot looked at each other, sharing in a silent conversation he could never fathom to understand, before looking back at him. Smellerbee’s grip on her teacup tightened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet, I don’t think we should be doing this anymore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He huffed. Chewed on his stalk of wheat. “Then who else is going to fight the Fire Nation?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet! Hush, there are people around,” Smellerbee said, “Plus. What good would a little group like us do? We’re just...we’re just petty thieves at this point.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Every little bit counts.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” Smellerbee snapped. The other patrons of the teahouse turned and stared at them. Smellerbee flushed red, hiding her face in Longshot’s sleeve. They waited for the owners of those eyes to turn their attention elsewhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eyes. A cave. A soothing voice. Green, yellow. Red. Fire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Li.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smellerbee cleared her throat, “We’re not making a dent in anything, Jet. Just minor inconveniences. We...we should go. Before they look into things and track us down.” Longshot nodded, his arm wrapped around Smellerbee’s shoulder. “Didn’t you want to leave at first, Jet? Why do you want to stay now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet was quiet. His fingers itched for his blades, itched for the feeling of steel against flesh, of that blasted heat bleeding into lifeless ice. But there was red everywhere, in the streets, the shops, the palaces and warehouses. He hated to admit it, but Smellerbee was right. He had wanted to leave before. Desperate for it. But now that the idea was feasible, not blinded by pain and anger and revenge, a part of Jet did not know if this was what he really wanted. There was so much unfinished business here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Ba Sing Se was lost. There was nothing left for them here. Nothing left for him here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Jet said, “Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smellerbee stared into her cup of tea, “I’m glad you’re listening to us, Jet. Really glad.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They said goodbye to Than and Ying a few days later, the newborn baby bawling in their arms. They smiled sadly at Smellerbee and Longshot, barely sparing Jet a glance. He did not do much to ingratiate himself to them. Jet supposed they were glad that he was gone, a bad influence that could bring calamity to their household. He couldn’t blame them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They snuck out with a caravan of potters when the sun was high in the sky. Conspicuously inconspicuous. Jet refused to look back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They split with the caravan long after, despite Smellerbee’s protests. Something about sticking together and having a support group that Jet wasn’t interested in. The less people knew about him, the better. At least Longshot agreed with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They wandered aimlessly around the Earth Kingdom. Raiding Fire Nation settlements, camping out in the fields, and generally avoiding populated areas. No telling how many of these villagers were Fire Nation sympathizers. Better to not know, not find out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It all came to a head outside a dusty town in the middle of a barren desert, when Longshot came down with a scorching fever that turned his skin yellow and his breath short. Smellerbee begged him to take the other boy to town. Jet couldn’t refuse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The town seemed free of Fire Nation influence. But Jet could never tell. Maybe there was a camp on the other side, trading, mingling. Jet grit his teeth as he dragged Longshot’s body through the town, trying not to think. Doctor. He just needed a doctor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They found one, a weedy old woman that took one look at their dirty clothes and Longshot’s pallid face and asked no questions. Smellerbee stayed by his bedside the whole night. Jet milled around uselessly before he was shooed out for taking up space. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever. He stuck his straw into his mouth and leaned against the door, staring up at the night sky. They were better off without him in there, anyways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lee! Come inside before you catch a cold!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet froze. Images flashed before his eyes. Golden eyes, pink flesh, their faces so close, so, so close. The last minute of hesitation. Fire. His hands reached for his swords.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, mom, I’m coming!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The voice wasn’t Li. Jet felt himself relax. His gaze drifted to the scene across the street, where the mother was vainly trying to brush the dust off her son’s worn soiled tunic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, Lee. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy grinned, “Just you wait, I’ll grow big and strong and I’ll take back the capital.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mother laughed, “Alright, honey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet closed his eyes. That kind of domesticity wasn’t meant for people like him.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Longshot recovered. They paid the healer, bought some supplies, and left town. Jet avoided the boy with Li’s name. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They arrived in Omashu a few days later, the city still flying the colors of the Fire Nation. Jet stared at the banners and felt himself burning inside. That cowardly king. Those Fire Nation bastards. They will pay, all of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smellerbee noticed it first. The shadow over the sun, nightfall in the midst of day. Jet gaped at the darkened sky, a primordial fear coiling deep in his gut. He gaped as the banners fell, one by one, as the entire city seemed to shake off the taint of the Fire Nation and freed itself from its shackles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smellerbee tugged at his sleeve, “Jet, are you seeing this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said, reverent, “Omashu’s fighting back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Longshot pointed. Jet strained his eyes to follow his friend’s finger. Jet watched with bated breath as the gates burst open and a stream of soldiers, nobles, merchants, bastards in Fire Nation red, bled out of the city, pursued by emboldened earthbenders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go!” Jet whooped, “We’ve got to help them chase the Fire Nation out!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Longshot and Smellerbee nodded, matching smiles etched on their lips. Jet returned the gesture. It had been so long since he’d felt this alive. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, Jet! I don’t–I don’t want to!” Smellerbee shouted, her hands balled into little fists by her side. Jet could see Longshot tense from the corner of his eye. The little excuse for an apartment they all shared seemed all at once too big and too small. The space between them, between Jet and Longshot and Smellerbee, was suffocating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gritted his teeth, “Look, Smellerbee, this is our chance to stick it to the Fire Nation. They’re weak! We pushed them back! We just have to stow away on one of the Earth Ki–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sick of fighting!” Smellerbee cut in, “I–I’m so sick of it. Revenge. Blood. We have a real chance to make something of ourselves here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about all the people we lost?” Jet snapped, “I thought you wanted to avenge them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just want to survive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The three of them stood in silence, sizing each other up. A chill went down Jet’s spine. He recognized that look on Smellerbee, on Longshot. The steely, focused gaze they saved for Fire Nation soldiers and Earth Kingdom police. Assessing a threat. So that was how they saw him now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Jet muttered, “Do what you want.” He turned on his heels, ignoring Smellerbee’s protests.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you going to do now?” That tenor, low and gravelly from disuse. Longshot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet froze. “What else? Fight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good luck.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet walked away, chewing through the end of the stalk of hay in his mouth, ignoring the tightening of the place in his chest where his heart should be. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t get far. A fight in a bar with a man in Earth Kingdom robes and fiery golden eyes landed him a night in a jail cell. The exorbitant fine stripped him of everything but his clothes. Even his precious swords were taken away, the last remnants of his family before the Fire Nation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet was glad it was only a night. The damp, cold floor reminded him too much of that lake, of how close to death he was. Yet as he traded jail cells for city streets, a part of Jet felt like he was still imprisoned. He had nothing, no money for supplies for the road and no weapons to steal them with. His hands could only reach so far, and the wary frugality that descended on the city as it recovered from the Fire Nation’s advances left no pocket unguarded for Jet to stick his fingers in. There were too many thieves in the street. Too much competition. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he found himself dirty and starving, on the side of the road, too proud to beg but relying on the pity of strangers. There wasn’t even a stalk of wheat for him to chew on to stave off the clenching of his stomach. Jet smirked. He was doomed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could try to track down Smellerbee and Longshot, but he couldn’t let them have this power over him. He refused to owe them anything, to be proven wrong, to be tied down by their desire for peace and domesticity. Jet had to fight, even if he died trying, his blood boiled for the destruction of the Fire Nation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had to do it. Fight. Until the end. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s a young man like you doing out here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet ignored the voice. Just some old woman sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You look like you’re pretty strong. Follow me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman turned around and hobbled away. Jet made no move to follow. Over the din of the city street, he heard her call, “Are you going to pass up a bowl of rice and a roof over your head?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet got up. He followed. The old woman was spry for her age, deftly weaving through the stalls and shops while Jet stumbled after, darkness creeping at the edge of his vision. She stopped, turned around, took a look at his face, and smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were in front of a tea shop. Small, a little plain, but cozy. The comforting scent of oolong and jasmine drifted to his nose again, his feeble mind wandering to simpler, happier times. A flash of green robes. Golden eyes. The quick turn of a scowl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet hesitated for a second before following. There was no one inside the shop. The old woman ordered him to sit as she bustled about in the back of the shop before appearing with a bowl of plain rice and some cabbage soup. Jet took the offering greedily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you read?” The woman asked suddenly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jet said between mouthfuls, “Never learned.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That can be fixed. Slow down before you choke.” There was an authoritative snap in the woman’s voice that ignited an instinctive spark in Jet to obey. She reminded him of his mother, his grandmother, the stern, caring women of his village. All gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you count?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That will do.” The woman took a seat across from him, her steely eyes piercing into his soul. “The shop opens at eight on weekdays and ten on the weekends, closes at eleven every night. There is a three hour break after one for lunch. Dinner is eaten whenever you can. Store is closed on Tuesdays. You can mop, lift, wipe tables, and do math, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good. I'll teach you how to write and how to brew tea.” The woman reached across the table, her palm open, “My name is Lan.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stared at the offered hand. That old fire, that desire to dismantle the Fire Nation to the very last man, still flared deep within his gut. But he had nothing. With food in his belly and a roof over his head, Jet considered his options. Maybe a little stop here at the tea shop wouldn’t be a bad idea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet.” He took the woman’s hand and shook it once, hard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re hired. There’s a free room upstairs.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was just supposed to be a way to help Jet get back on his feet. Work for a few weeks, save up enough money for weapons and food, then leave. But the economy was still trying to recover after the Fire Nation occupation and Jet watched in despair as the price of metal steadily climbed higher and higher over the weeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt himself settle into a routine. Wake up, wash his face, put on his scratchy uniform. Help Lan with inventory. Listen to Lan complain about his hair. Stick a straw in his mouth when she’s not looking to spite her. He would watch as she brewed the morning batch of tea, trying to file the information she rattled off into his brain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>During their generous lunch break, Lan would sit him down and go over a few dusty primers she had lying around the house. There were no children around and they looked too new to be hers, but Jet didn’t pry. It was hard at first, trying to keep the symbols straight in his head, but he pushed on. Eventually they just focused on the important words. “White,” “order,” “jasmine,” “money.” He was finally able to decipher the name of the shop, The Wise Virtue, to the pleasure of Lan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one else worked at the shop. Jet wondered how Lan managed before he was there. The shop was decently popular, attracting a loyal customer base that Jet slowly learned the habits of. There was Old Man Aak, who would stare at the menu for ten minutes before ordering a singular cup of weak green tea. Mrs. Xia from the laundromat down the street came in every Wednesday with a toddler at her heel, impatiently tapping her foot for something sweet and fruity. Ji and Minh drifted in after their shift on guard duty each night, daring each other to try something new and arguing over who would pay the bill. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet somehow found himself inserted into their little ecosystem, a steady rhythm of routine that easily absorbed him instead of rejecting him. It was different to the chaotic nature of his time as a Freedom Fighter, but his body somehow quickly got used to it. Maybe it was making up for lost time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ji and Minh were especially boisterous today, their conversation carrying all the way to Jet’s place behind the till. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m telling you, the Fire Nation’s going to do it!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not if we take back Ba Sing Se first.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As if that’ll happen!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet fidgeted behind the counter. His hands reached for swords that weren’t there. That age old rage boiled in his chest with the indignant fury of the lost. The Fire Nation was still out there. Omashu had been such a haven from those reminders that Jet had almost forgotten. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He counted his belongings that night. Ink and brushes, parchment to practice writing, a few robes. Not enough gold for even a simple dagger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lan came up with a cup of green tea and a soft frown, “You’re restless.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The old woman sighed, “If you want to leave, I’m not stopping you.” There was a quiet resignation in her voice, a sad acceptance that Jet had already made his decision. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet stayed. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The war ended on a bright red day, Fire Nation colors scarring the eastern sky. Omashu saw none of the fighting, Jet busy running cups of tea to the patrons watching the display in the sky. Even if the fate of the entire world was at stake, it felt peaceful, if a little strange.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Xia broke the news in a flurry of silks and suds, “Fire Lord Ozai is defeated! We...We won.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet froze. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. Happiness? Peace? Those were the expected emotions. Maybe triumph, something. But there was just a gaping hole where his life once was, ripped from him by burning swords and dedicated to one singular purpose. Just...empty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay, boy?” Lan asked, snapping Jet out of his thoughts. “Table three’s order is up. Don’t spill it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet nodded, picking up the two cups of oolong on his way to the kitchen with another slew of orders. His reading and writing had improved considerably, despite his messy brush work, but Lan still hadn’t trusted him with any tea brewing save the basics. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was in the middle of wiping down the counter when Ji and Minh burst in, shouting at the top of their lungs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you hear?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s a new Fire Lord!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What was his name again, Ji, something...Ko? Mako?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Zuko.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet ignored them. He could care less about who was sitting on the throne of that blasted nation. They could burn themselves to the ground and he wouldn’t bat an eye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Prince Zuko?” Old Man Aak said, stroking his graying whiskers, “I’ve heard stories about him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you think he’s going to invade us again?” Ji asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aak shook his head, “I doubt it. I heard his father gave him a nasty scar. Burned an entire side of his face. Doubt the boy has much love for his old man–Jet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet looked down. The teacups he carried lay broken in a shattered mess beneath his feet. The patrons whispered around him, hushed tones drifting over the quiet shop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S–sorry,” Jet muttered, “Let me go clean it up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shakily found his way to the storage room. Lan was nowhere in sight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It couldn’t be. There was no way. There could be a million boys with burn scars on the side of their faces, the Fire Nation’s wrath ravaging the Earth Kingdom to cinders. It couldn’t be Li. It just couldn’t be. He didn’t breathe the same air as the progeny of the Fire Lord. Shared food. Laughed. Almost…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet?” Lan asked softly. Her hand rested on his arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes in that concerned, sarcastic way that only mothers could, “I know the news may come as a shock. I can take care of the shop for the day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet shook his head, “No, I’m fine. Really. Just...give me a minute.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lan seemed unconvinced, but she just huffed and left him be. Jet took a deep breath. His teeth gritted, yearning for the familiar stalks of mouth that once were a constant in his life. Lan had ordered him to kick the habit early into his stay at The Wise Virtue, muttering about appearances and professionalism. He coped half way decently, until now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no way the new Fire Lord was Li. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. The universe couldn’t be fucking with him at such a cosmic level. Jet sighed and pushed himself off the wall. The day was bound to be long, customers ordering more than usual to stay and gossip about the new state of the world. He couldn’t leave Lan to fend for herself. Jet dusted himself off, confident with the knowledge that there was no chance in hell Fire Lord Zuko could be Li. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a kind of fragile hope in the air the months following the war. The new Fire Lord stayed true to his promises, sending reparations to the Earth Kingdom on a regular basis and negotiating peace treaties with the Water Tribes. Still, refugees flocked to Omashu, their villages and farms reduced to cinders. A hundred years of war had its toll. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He spotted Smellerbee and Longshot a few times around town. He always hid when he did, a mixture of shame and pride preventing him from reaching out to his former friends. Even if they lived in the same city, Jet was determined to keep his distance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tea shop grew more popular as Lan began entrusting Jet with more and more of the brewmaking. Maybe being around that tea loving old man rubbed off on him. Despite the booming business, Lan stubbornly refused to hire any more help. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Wise Virtue is a family business. And it will stay a family business.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet didn’t know what to make of those implications. He simply returned to his reading primer, worn through with use, as he practiced his brushstrokes again and again. Still a little too blocky, according to Lan, but at least it was legible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The regulars were beginning to complain about the lack of seating, with so many newcomers clamoring to get a taste of their tea. Jet suggested increasing the number of tables. Lan considered it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, if we do, then we’ll both have to work harder.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can handle it,” Jet said quickly. He wasn’t planning on letting Lan shoulder any more than she needed to. It was his idea, after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright. It’s good you’re thinking about keeping the regulars happy,” Lan said, chewing on her betel and areca. It was one of those habits confined to an older generation. Jet had made no secret his indignation of being denied his hay while Lan was still allowed her crimson nut, but Lan had waved it off as a seniority thing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Plus, I don’t chew during work, do I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet took that as approval of hay chewing during his breaks until Lan forced him to scrub all the pots clean for disobeying her. He chose to stop, if only to save himself from Lan’s wrath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was in the middle of closing up when he spotted her. That girl, again, with the high waisted brown dress and her hair tied in a neat ponytail. He noticed her weeks ago, always passing by the teahouse and stopping at the front. She never came in, just stood in place wistfully outside. Sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Jet called out, putting on his best customer service voice, “Would you like a cup of tea?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” the girl stammered, “Y–you’re talking to me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t see anyone else around here,” Jet drawled, sarcasm creeping past his facade of professionalism. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, I’m sorry, but I can’t afford…” she trailed off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come in,” Jet said, “On the house.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes lit up. She reminded him of his Freedom Fighters, when he first found them and took them in. But instead of offering blades and revenge, he was now offering a cup of tea and a rackety seat. She took her seat gracefully, her hands folded in her lap. Despite poverty’s mark, she still maintained an air of grace and dignity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“W–what’s your name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m Song,” she said. Silence descended over them, Jet not really looking for conversation. He was just giving her a cup of tea. He wasn’t asking for anything else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl – no, Song – continued talking, “This is the first time someone showed me such kindness here. My mother and I...we’ve lost everything. I’ve been trying to find a job but...but there’s nothing. Too many workers, not enough employers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked down, hiding her eyes from him, “I used to be a healer’s apprentice. But all the apothecaries and hospitals here don’t have as many patients any more, with the war being over. At least–at least that’s a good thing that happened.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet hummed. He could understand the mixed feelings around the war’s end. Sometimes, seeing the casualties the Fire Nation left behind while they still got off scott-free, made something boil deep in his chest. Song was just another example on a laundry list of examples. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here’s your tea,” Jet said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she sighed, taking a deep breath of the scent, “I’ve missed this so much. Tea just has that...comforting quality, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that why you keep stopping in front of our shop?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Song blushed and nodded. She fidgeted with her cup, staring into the pale liquid, “Say, I’m sorry if this is too forward, but I was wondering...I was wondering if you needed an extra pair of hands around here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet stilled. This was his chance to pay it forward, but he wasn’t sure how much power he actually had in The Wise Virtue’s operations. “I’ll have to talk with Lan. But I’ll see what I can do.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Song was hired. The extra pair of hands around the shop was an immense help. Everyone was able to take an extra off day, staggered to make sure at least two people were always working. This left Jet more time to practice his reading, writing, and tea brewing, much to Lan’s approval. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His fingers still ached, sometimes, for the hilt of his sword. There was still that irrational, reactionary fear when he lit the stoves for the morning’s batch of tea. He couldn’t look anyone with golden eyes in the face. The routine of the tea house took away some of that sting, weathered his edges down so they were smoother, if not round. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, when the Avatar and his friends showed up at the front of the teashop, Jet wanted to throw up. They spotted him first, ruining any chances he had of escaping to the back and leaving Song and Lan to deal with the rowdy bunch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy–Jet’s alive?” The voice was slightly gruffer, but still recognizable as Sokka.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could reply, the entire Avatar cabal was filing into the teashop. Song froze beside him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Avatar is here?” she gasped, “Jet, you know the Avatar?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately,” Jet muttered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Sokka drawled, swinging an arm over Jet’s shoulder. The guy was getting bigger, much to Jet’s annoyance, “We’re all friends here, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet eyed at the rest of the team. Aang looked nervous, Katara looked pissed, and the blind one just looked bored.  </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want some tea?” Jet gritted. Even if this whole thing was awkward for everyone, he was still at work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We thought you died,” Aang said softly, “I’m...glad to see you alive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet nodded, waving the group over to a free table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you ended up in a tea shop,” Katara said, her eyes still narrowed and cold, “Ironic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’d you end up here?” Aang asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet stiffened, “I don’t want to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What can I get you today?” Jet snapped, throwing a stack of menus on to the table. A few patrons whispered around him. Jet ignored it, whipping out his notepad and brush to take their orders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Woah, you can write?” Sokka asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet bit back a growl. “Learned so I can work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t know you had it in you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guys,” the blind Earthbender said, “You’re making him mad.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What would he be mad about?” Katara murmured, her piercing gaze boring into Jet. Probably how they barged into his life and reminded him of the lowest lows he’d ever experienced. But he didn’t know how to explain that to her, put these nebulous feelings into words that wouldn’t blame them for what happened. It wasn’t their fault. It was too much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Song, can you take over for me?” Jet mumbled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go help Lan in the back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He quickly retreated to the stoves, letting the comforting scent of tea wash over him. Lan raised an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you d–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I try brewing today? For the customers?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked him up and down in appraisal. Jet needed this. He needed this so fucking much. The absolute focus of maintaining the fires, keeping them steady and low, judging when to steep the tea, soaking certain leaves to the right color. He just needed something, anything, to focus on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lan sighed, “Alright. We better not lose any customers because of this.” She wiped her hands, patting him softly on the shoulder on her way out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet stayed there for the entire day, long after the Avatar and his friends had left. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Life continued on, peaceful and unassuming, for the years that followed. Lan began entrusting more and more of the business matters to Jet, letting herself enjoy the quieter moments of life. Song stayed at the shop. She had multiple opportunities to move on to better prospects, but something beyond Jet’s understanding compelled her to stay. The Fire Nation made good of its promise. Reparations trickled in and fighting was sporadic, mainly something about the Western Earth Kingdom having grown used to the multicultural mixing. Jet couldn’t understand it. He had a feeling he would grow angry if he tried. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The landscape of customers slowly changed, becoming more noble and rich as their neighborhood began clawing itself out of the war. Old Man Aak passed away, Mrs. Xia found herself a new husband in Ba Sing Se. Only Ji and Minh still stayed, their voices growing louder as the boredom of a peace enveloped Omashu. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Today, however, only Minh was in the shop, glaring angrily into his cup. Jet wasn’t one to pry into the customers’ personal lives, but Minh was the one who started ranting first. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you believe it? A proposal!” the ex soldier cried, “Who does she think she is anyways? Gold digger! Not like Ji has gold to give…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet hummed, clearing another table and wiping it down for the next customer. Minh continued his rant, “What’s so good about getting married anyways?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet shrugged. He hadn’t really thought about anything like that. Life had always seemed too chaotic, or too violent, or too double-faced for Jet to really consider marriage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His thoughts quickly flashed back to golden eyes and a burning scar and Jet quietly pushed the thought to the back of his mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night, as they closed up the shop, Song began acting strange. Her fingers somehow found a way to brush up against his, as they polished teacups, as they swept the floors, as they counted the money. Their shoulders bumped. She smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, Song?” Jet asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Song said, “Just...About earlier…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That? Just Minh complaining about stuff again. He complains a lot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s a theater troupe coming to town this week,” Song said slowly, twirling her hair, “I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. This was what she was trying to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll think about it,” Jet muttered. He wasn’t sure if thinking would help.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh...Okay,” Song said, “Let me know, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Fire Lord came into town a week later, the theater troupe redirected to give him a private performance, saving Jet the trouble of answering Song’s request. A diplomatic mission or something. The sight of the Fire Nation banners in the streets, even under the pretense of peace, sent a shot of visceral disgust coursing through his body. Jet holed himself up in the teahouse, Lan and Song giving him a wide berth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And this here is The Wise Virtue, one of the most prestigious tea shops in our lovely town. I’ve heard that you have quite the taste for tea, Fire Lord Zuko?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My uncle is fond of it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That voice. It can’t be. It couldn’t be. Jet looked up from his accounts book to face the new customer. He froze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Li?”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jet,” the other man said, a hushed, reverent breath, “You’re alive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hair was longer, pulled up into that Fire Nation loop. His face was sharper. He was taller, shoulders broad under the heavy imperial robes. Yet there were parts of him that were still the same. The same crimson scar, the same pouting lips, the same piercing eyes. That boyish awkwardness Jet still found himself laughing over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those golden eyes. Jet turned away, ready to bolt into the back, but it was Song’s day off and Lan was out buying groceries for the week. He was the only one left. He had to serve the customers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet swallowed. “Your table, sir,” he said politely, stiffly, a mask of professionalism, “What would you like to drink.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Fire Lord shook his head, “Jet, come on. I know you recognize me. I–ah, it’s good to see you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet made a motion with his head, neither agreeing or disagreeing. There was a small entourage behind the Fire Lord, a collection of officials and nobles from Omashu and the Fire Nation. This was good for business, Jet reminded himself. He just had to survive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet, we should talk–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing for us to talk about,” Jet snapped. The entourage murmured amongst themselves. Jet cleared his throat, “What would you like to order?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Fire Lord sighed and took his seat. There was something desperate and pleading behind his eyes. Jet ignored it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your best, please,” the Omashu ambassador said, “For the whole party.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would two pots be enough?” Jet asked, looking anywhere but at the Fire Lord. At Li. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Make that three.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet escaped into the back before the Fire Lord could say another word. He took a deep breath. Let himself feel nothing for a minute. Then it was back to work. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The teapots were warm and heavy in his hands. Comforting. It was almost a shame that he had to set them down. The Fire Lord looked like he wanted to say something, but Jet just poured out the tea for the assembled nobles. A special oolong and jasmine blend. Only the best for a sovereign.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet retreated to his counter and waited for the party to drink their fill. A small crowd had formed outside the shop, jostling for a look at the foreign ruler. Jet was right, this was good for the shop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally they finished, Jet dutifully moving to clear the table of the dirty cups and pots. The nobles chatted away, accustomed to ignoring the presence of a servant. Good. Just a little bit longer and he will be finished. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand circled around his wrist. Warm. Familiar. Jet froze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet, please,” the Fire Lord pleaded. The nobles quieted, gawking at the Fire Lord and this lowly commoner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet shook his head, “I–I must serve the other customers.” He gently pulled his hand away, staring at the spot where the Fire Lord had touched him like it burned. The ghost of the other man’s touch danced on his skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Fire Lord looked down, something sad dancing behind his eyes. “It was...nice seeing you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet rang up the table’s bill and watched the procession shuffle out of the shop in silence, his heart hammering in his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really think you could’ve avoided us forever?” Smellerbee scoffed. Longshot silently glared beside her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet gulped. He had seen the pair around Omashu, but those old feelings of guilt and shame clawed at his ability to reach out to his former friends. Today was just supposed to be a simple run to the potter’s district, picking up an order of teacups for Lan. He hadn’t expected Smellerbee and Longshot to show up at the exact same shop at the exact same time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their last encounter weighed on his shoulders. The shouting, the quiet resignation, the disappointment. Jet felt like a sham, doing the exact thing he once swore he wouldn’t do, living in the quiet domesticity he once condemned. He wanted to run. He couldn’t run. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you guys wouldn’t want to see me anymore,” Jet muttered, “Plus, I failed. Never even got out of Omashu.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re an idiot,” Smellerbee muttered and pulled him into a hug. “Where’s your straw?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet laughed, “The old lady wouldn’t let me chew anymore. Said it was unprofessional.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re taking orders from old ladies now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s my boss,” Jet said fondly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They followed him back to the teashop. Smellerbee had become a smith’s apprentice, Longshot a potter. They had a little apartment together on the quieter side of Omashu. They’ve been waiting for him to reach out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet treated them each to a cup of tea. They talked to him about everything and nothing, the easy camaraderie of their Freedom Fighter days settling over the atmosphere like nothing had happened. He realized he missed this. So much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The conversation flowed easily. “You should come to our wedding,” Smellerbee said, hand clasped against Longshot’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“About time,” Jet huffed, taking a sip of his tea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about you?” Smellerbee asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet shrugged. There was Song. He doubted that was going anywhere. He didn’t want it to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smellerbee looked at Longshot, sharing in one of those silence conversations that he was never privy to. Smellerbee spoke, “You’ve heard about Li, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet sucked in a sharp breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess he’s Fire Lord Zuko now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet squeezed his eyes shut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay? I know you guys–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing happened,” Jet snapped, “That’s the thing, nothing happened.” Jet wished it did. In the corner of that boat, something almost did. The look on Li’s face, the way his eyes were glazed over, his lips parted. The pale light of the moon highlighting the curve of Li’s cheek. He had looked so beautiful. All Jet had to do was lean in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet he didn’t. He thought there would be time. But then there was the accusation, and the Lake, and Li was gone. Zuko took his place</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smellerbee reached out and gripped his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s the Fire Lord now,” Jet muttered, “I’m just an apprentice in a teahouse.” The other man had bigger things to work towards. The fates of nations. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Jet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me too.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No worker of mine is going to represent The Wise Virtue at a wedding without the proper clothes,” Lan huffed. She patted his cheek, a reassurance that she was just teasing. Jet had learned to read Lan’s intentions over the years, reading between the lines for the affection she gave so easily under her gruff, dour mask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet chuckled, “You don’t have to worry about that. They’re my friends. I’m making sure I’m presentable.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Song poked her head into the back room. Jet gulped. He thought she had already left, closing having passed more than an hour ago. “A wedding, Jet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Jet said slowly. Something lighted on Song’s face, shining radiantly from her skin. Jet looked at Lan. The old woman rolled her eyes and grunted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right. This was going to happen eventually. Better now than later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood, brushed the dried tea off his trousers, and motioned at Song to join him at one of the tables. She smiled. He refused to meet her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet–”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Song. I can’t–I can’t give you what you want, Song.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could feel her face crumple, even if his eyes were focused on the plaster flaking off the decrepit wall by the register. He would have to find a wall scroll to cover the spot up. He could hear Song take a shaky breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I...Is there someone else?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet closed his eyes. Golden eyes, burning with golden flames, danced in the darkness against an angry scar. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“W–Who?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet sighed, “Someone...someone that doesn’t exist.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Song was quiet. Jet supposed that was for the best. She’ll probably quit soon, and it’ll probably take a stupid amount of convincing for Lan to hire any more help. The old lady would not admit it, but Jet could see she was getting weaker. Her hands shook, her feet stalled, her back stooped. Yet she stubbornly refused to rest, toiling away at the boiling pots in the back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet stood. They were probably done. He had to help Lan with the inventory for the next week anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jet, are you still picking robes for the wedding?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet blinked. He nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Song smiled, “Let me help.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can do it myself,” Jet gunted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to agree with Lan. Can’t trust you to pick out anything fashion related.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet huffed, biting back a laugh. He must not have been very successful, since Song just giggled and gave him a side eye. “Sleep on it, Jet. I’ll see you tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet grinned, “See you.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wedding was a small affair. A few of the friends Smellerbee and Longshot met in Omashu, no one Jet would know or recognize. He watched them exchange their tea without their guardians behind them and that old fire of anger flared within his gut again, the raging vengeance he once yearned to enact on the Fire Nation. He stamped it out. The war was over. He had no use for those old grudges, not anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smellerbee and Longshot were wearing the celebratory red and gold, the rest of the crowd dressed in similarly festive colors. Even Jet was wearing red. He had chuckled at the irony. There wasn’t much of a difference between wedding red and Fire Nation red.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wished the new couple well and promised he would keep in touch. Longshot punched his shoulder lightly, a silent reaffirmation of their old friendship. He couldn’t stay long for the party, Lan’s recent fever leaving her needing bedrest her stubborn ass refused to take. He had hurried back to begin the weekly inventory before the old woman pushed herself beyond her limits again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was slipping off his robe when he noticed the messenger hawk on his windowsill. Jet stared down the bird. He didn’t have any friends outside of Omashu. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bird cawed impatiently. Jet cautiously approached the creature. Maybe it was lost? His breath hitched when he saw the letter in its claws. The Fire Nation insignia. With a shaky hand, Jet reached for the letter. The messenger hawk easily gave him the letter, giving him one last indignant squawk before turning to groom its feathers, amber eyes shining in the dim light of his room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet unscrolled the parchment, dreading what he would find. The brushwork was neat and delicate, nothing like his chunky characters, the result of years and years of courtly training. The letter was addressed to him. Jet forced himself to read, even as his ears pounded in his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jet,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You probably don’t want anything to do with me. That’s fine. All I ask is that you read this letter in its entirety. And then you can burn it or throw it away or something, I don’t care. Please just read what I have to say. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t know how happy I was when I walked into that tea shop in Omashu and you were alive and well, Jet. I thought you had died. Everyone with the Avatar did and I just assumed… </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry I lied to you, Jet. When I met you on that ferry to Ba Sing Se, my uncle and I were wanted fugitives. We had a hefty bounty on our heads. We didn’t know how long we would be on the run. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess what I’m saying to you is that my name may have been fake, my origins might have been fake, but everything else was real, Jet. Everything. Sometimes I still think about that night on the ferry. If I had just been a bit braver. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, and I know that I’m different and you’re different now, but I would like to keep in touch, at least. Write me back, would you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You look good in a teahouse uniform. I hope I didn’t offend you, assuming you knew how to read. I’m still not very good at these kinds of things.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fire Lord Zuko (Li).</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet read the letter over and over and over. Write back. He wondered if he had the right to write back. He pulled out a blank piece of parchment and stared at it. He picked up his brush. Put it down. Picked it back up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The messenger hawk at the windowsill must have gotten tired of his dallying, flitting to his shoulder and pecking impatiently at his ear. Jet pushed the writing utensils aside, gave the bird a small treat from his dry grain stash, and shooed it towards the window. It stared at him accusingly. Jet glared back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Scram, birdbrain.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It squawked and flew off. Jet shoved the letter into his drawer. He would figure out what to do about it later. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet never found the time to write back. A part of him hoped he never did. Weeks stretched into months, months into years. Jet continued working at the tea shop, with Smellerbee and Longshot visiting often. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lan died one peaceful spring day in her sleep, the years of toil finally showing their weight on her shoulders. She left the shop to Jet. Song continued to work with him, their rapport still easy. Jet got to work right away, fixing up the interior of the shop to match the increasingly gentrified neighborhood. He hired more help, determined to not let his health deteriorate like Lan’s did. He chewed on as many straws he could get his hands on. No disrespect to the old woman, but being the boss had its perks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only Minh remained from the old guard, coming in every so often to to rant to Jet about the good old days. Jet vaguely wondered what happened to Ji. No one from the Avatar’s posse ever visited again, even as dignitaries and ambassadors flocked to The Wise Virtue for a taste of his famous tea. Jet was secretly glad for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He told Smellerbee and Longshot about the letter one evening when they kept pressing him about his love life, Smellerbee’s belly swollen and full. Longshot was at the shop to oversee a shipment of new teapots and cups. Jet couldn’t remember how the conversation turned to this topic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Write him back Jet!” Smellerbee insisted, nursing her cup of tea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why would I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because he’s the Fire Lord!” Smellerbee groaned, “I don’t know, because you still like him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Exactly, Smellerbee. He’s the Fire Lord now. I’m...I’m basically nothing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smellerbee rolled her eyes, “You’re an actual idiot, Jet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Longshot placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Jet sighed, “Not you too, Longshot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t do something you’ll regret.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet blinked. Even after all these years, hearing Longshot speak was still a rare occurrence. His voice was gravelly, even deeper than the last time Jet had heard it. Even Smellerbee seemed taken aback.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do what I need to do,” Jet said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was how he found himself outside the post office, trying to collect himself through the screeching of the messenger hawks. The letter he wrote was heavy in his tunic. All he had to do was step inside. Ask for a hawk. Easy, simple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To Fire Lord Zuko</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Surprise. I’m literate now. Kinda had to learn if I’m going to be able to run a teahouse. It’s strange to think about you as Zuko when you’ve been Li for all the time I’ve known you. I still think about that night, wondering what would have happened, playing it over and over in my head. From what I hear, you’ve been doing good. For a Fire Nation loser.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know what I can expect from this, Zuko. I don’t know if we can even move forward with anything. But I’d like to try. Maybe you can tell me more about tea. You must know a lot, since your uncle was so obsessed. Sorry this letter is so short, hope to hear from you soon. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jet</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet closed his eyes. He turned on his heels and walked away, the distance between him and the post office growing wider and wider. His heart hammered in his chest. Jet chuckled. In the end, he couldn’t do it after all. He hoped Zuko wouldn’t be too disappointed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jet continued to work in the tea shop, Song by his side. He helped Smellerbee and Longshot with their newborn daughter. He visited Lan’s grave. Life continued marching on. The two letters sat in his drawer, untouched, yellowing as the years passed by. It was for the best. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please don't be mad at me. Jetko is one of those ships where I love them together but the logical part of me knows they will never work out as a couple. Many thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantu">pantu</a> for being an amazing beta yet again!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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